


Displaced

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-27
Updated: 2006-02-26
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8077885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: When investigating a Suliban military compound, Reed is thrown into the future where he meets a very interesting archaeologist.  Crossover, Next Generation. (03/12/2004)





	1. CHAPTER 1--An Abandoned Compound

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

CHAPTER 1--An Abandoned Compound 

"It still seems a bit suspicious to me, sir," said Lieutenant Reed as they stepped out of the turbolift. "A Suliban military base, out here in the middle of nowhere, completely abandoned? I think it poses somewhat of a security risk. What if it's a trap?" 

Archer shrugged. "Who knows why it was abandoned?" he answered, clapping the lieutenant on the shoulder. "All I know is that we've run into the Suliban a few times too many for my liking, and if there's something down there that will give us the advantage, I'm all for it." 

Reed nodded, although the tight set of his jaw suggested that he was not entirely reassured. Tucker grinned and tapped the padd in his hand as the three men went into the shuttlepod. Ensign Sato sat ready, reading her own padd, her forehead wrinkled with concentration. "I hope you can translate those Suliban consoles," said Trip teasingly, "because I aim to learn all I can about their engineering specs, and the UT's been actin' kind of funny of late." 

"Trust me, Commander," said Hoshi dryly, "I can translate anything you can throw at me." Trip laughed and checked through his tools once more. Reed sighed, preparing the shuttle for launch. 

"Okay, Hoshi, when I yell duck, you start translatin'," said the engineer. Sato rolled her eyes and shuffled her own tools around impatiently. Archer glanced back and forth from Reed, tersely piloting the shuttle out of the launch bay, and Sato, wringing her fingers together, and wondered what was making them so jumpy. He could understand Reed's reticence, he supposed; it had been the Suliban, after all, who were responsible for the lieutenant's stay in sickbay a few months ago. Hoshi was probably just nervous, he reasoned. 

"Are you all right, Hoshi?" he asked quietly as the blackness of space surrounded them. Enterprise, high above, looked like a fragile toy against the curtain of stars. The shuttle spun around under Reed's direction, and the yellow-green planet commandeered the view as Enterprise's comforting shape disappeared. 

"I'm fine, sir," she said. "Just a little queasy, that's all. These things always do make me a little sick." Archer nodded and glanced at Malcolm once more. The lieutenant's brow was furrowed, and he looked pale and stern even for him. The captain sighed and closed his eyes. Come to think of it, he was a little uneasy himself about walking into an abandoned military base of their worst enemy. 

Reed picked his way through a hallway filled with debris. Old, dusty wires hung from the walls; the place looked as if someone had already tried to strip it bare of anything useful. 

Just find the weapons locker, find anything useful, and get out, he told himself. There's nothing here, you idiot, no Suliban, no nothing. He gripped the phase pistol a little tighter and checked the map of the compound that T'Pol had printed out for them. Right ahead there was a large warehouse, and since it was in the middle of the compound, Malcolm was betting that they would have had something valuable (weapons or not) where it was hardest for any intruder to get to. 

The door slid open with a groan as he approached, and Reed silently thanked it for staying in operation. He'd had to pry open five of those damned doors already. The lights flickered on as he entered, wiping sweat from his forehead. 

Though the room was positively cavernous, there was absolutely nothing in it except more piles of waste and junk. Reed sighed and pulled off his jacket, tossing in onto a handy pile of burnt wire, and walked slowly around the edge of the room, hoping to find something to justify opening those bloody doors. All around the sides of the room, metal compartments that reminded him of his high school lockers hung open, and Reed shone his flashlight into each one. Nothing in those either, Reed saw, and was about to give up on the room when a strange glint caught his eye. He bent down in front of the very last locker and pulled out a flat, slightly rounded device from the rusty bottom. 

To his surprise, he knew what it was; Ensign Daniels, their itinerant crewman from the future, had left one just like it in his cabin. Damned if I know what the bloody thing does, though, thought Reed in annoyance. He slid the dials around, and the object lit up, flashing and beeping softly. Maybe this device contained within it the same information as in Daniels' device; he'd seen specs for Klingon ships that weren't even in the Vulcan database. He'd been forbidden to retrieve that data, but the Captain wasn't here right now... Cautiously, he slid his fingers over the controls, expecting to see the holographic display pop up before his eyes. 

The sudden flash of light that followed caught him unprepared. He dropped his phase pistol to the floor and staggered backwards, blinded, as the room began to explode around him. Something sharp hit his arm and his back, and he clutched the strange device to his chest, scrabbling frantically to find the pistol. A sudden shattering pain blew through his skull, and he collapsed to the ground, still holding tight to the device as it began to hum. In a split second, he thought, oh, bloody hell, before the device flared once more and the room faded away.


	2. CHAPTER 2--An Aging Captain

CHAPTER 2--An Aging Captain 

Hoshi heard the explosion first and went running through the empty hallways. Trip and Archer heard her call over the comm and quickly followed. All three officers paled when they saw a blue Starfleet-issue sleeve poking from the smoking rubble of what had previously been a perfectly sturdy room. 

"Was Malcolm in there?" cried Archer. Hoshi tugged at the sleeve and out came a jacket. Archer took it and stared at the heap in front of him in shock. 

"That's his, gotta be," said Trip. He began to shift the wreckage around, looking for any sign of the lieutenant. "Malcolm! Can you hear me? Hello?" 

"Archer to Enterprise, I want another team down here as fast as possible," Archer said, practically yelling into his comm. He barely heard T'Pol's reply as he joined Trip's efforts. 

After nearly twelve hours and three different teams hauling away the broken walls, Archer was forced to conclude the search was useless. They found no body; apart from Malcolm's jacket and a phase pistol under one of the bulkheads, there was no sign of the man at all. 

"How could he just disappear?" said Archer furiously for the hundredth time. 

"The Suliban strike again," said Trip softly. Though Archer had tried to send him back up to the ship for a rest, the engineer had refused to leave. "Maybe there was somethin' in here that blew him to bits." 

"Enterprise to Archer," said T'Pol over the comm, her voice infuriatingly calm as usual. "We've completed our bioscans of the planet. There is no humanoid life besides the crew presently on the surface. If Lieutenant Reed was somehow transported away from his last known position he is not on the planet...or dead." 

The shadows, already deep in the twilight, darkened further as the sun slipped below the horizon. Archer sighed and ordered the teams back to the ship. 

"I want to keep scanning for him," he told T'Pol over the comm. "Exhaust every possible option, T'Pol. I want to know what's happened here." 

"Aye, Captain," she said. Trip shook his head and began to walk back to the shuttles. 

"Come on, Jon," he said. "There's nothing more you can do." Archer threw one last look at the smoking building and, sighing, followed Trip. 

The camp lay still in the starlight, dark and quiet among the ancient ruins. Only one light shone through the night. An aging archaeologist traced the dusty signs on the old walls with a steady hand. His head shone in the lamplight, utterly devoid of any hair except for a white fringe around his ears. He muttered softly to himself in an accented voice, sounding vaguely European. 

"Symbols refer to some sort of storage area, I think," he murmured. "Computer, transcribe wall symbols and save to Calis Project database, under heading 'Written Records.'" He waved a blinking tricorder at the wall. 

"Saved," said a flat voice from the padd. The man nodded and yawned. 

"Why is it that I do my best work when no one else is awake?" he muttered and stood up, stretching. "Computer, apply UT to new symbols, cross referencing them with the old. See what you can get." Carefully, he packed his brushes into a faded brown carryall. 

"Translating," said the computer. 

Without warning, a bright flash of light broke the darkness, bursting through the hallways of the old compound. The man threw up his hands and blinked furiously as afterimages sped over his vision. As his eyes cleared, he saw a dark shape huddled in the middle of the open area. For a moment he thought it was just a mirage as well, but it moved slightly and groaned. 

Throwing down his tools, he ran to the person's side. "Hello?" said the old man. "Can you hear me?" 

"Captain?" said the strange man through bruised lips. The old man caught a glimpse of pain-filled eyes before the stranger went limp and thudded back against the dusty ground. 

"Captain..." repeated the old man, eyes widening. He froze, hand still on the strange man's shoulder, and did not move as a flood of knowledge suddenly raced through his mind. 

Enterprise. A starship, a Federation starship, the latest in a long line of flagships to bear that name. A crew, that he knew better than he knew himself: Deanna Troi, Will Riker, Data, Work, Geordi LaForge, even the incorrigible Reginald Barclay... 

They were as real as the memories of his own life, and really, they were his own life. It felt so very right, having them there, and yet this, out here in the middle of nowhere, this felt right as well... He did not know which was real and yet he knew that somehow these new memories were just as true as the old ones of his life as an archaeologist. 

"Captain," said Jean-Luc Picard again. "Captain Picard, of the Federation starship Enterprise." 

The stranger's breath rasped loudly, and Picard, shaking his head, threw off his confusion and hauled the stranger over his shoulders. A strange device fell from the man's hands as he picked him up. Picard kicked it towards the bag of tools and set off for camp, his mind racing with all the questions he planned to ask this mysterious stranger.


	3. CHAPTER 3--A Mysterious Stranger

CHAPTER 3--A Mysterious Stranger 

His son Henri looked up sleepily from the book in his hands as Picard burst through the tent flap, the stranger over his shoulder. He swept piles of papers in a flurry away from the table. 

"What's going on?" asked Henri, leaping up and helping his father lower the man to the table. Jean-Luc nodded toward the medkit in the corner. He found the dermal regenerator and flicked it on expertly. Henri watched, brow furrowed in confusion. 

"I have no idea," replied Jean-Luc, examining the bruising on the man's chest. "I was studying the writing on the wall again...you know, the one that looks like it used to be a building but blew apart at some point...I think I translated some of those symbols, by the way..." 

"Dad!" 

"Anyway, there was a flash of light and he just appeared." 

Henri snorted. 

"It sounds silly, I know, but that's what happened." He sighed. "Would you kindly go and wake up the doctor? I don't know enough to treat broken ribs." 

His son slipped out of the tent, casting a curious glance at the mysterious man as he went. Jean-Luc sighed and began to apply the dermal regenerator to the nasty cut on the man's shoulder. He shook his head, confused, as two different memories of how he had learned field medicine popped into his mind. Every researcher for the Vulcan Science Directorate was required to know field medicine. So was every Starfleet Academy cadet... 

Henri slipped back through the flap, followed by T'Miya, the young Vulcan medic, doctor's case in hand. 

"Who is he?" she asked coolly, opening the case and swiftly removing the tricorder. It beeped and she frowned at it. 

"I don't know," Jean-Luc replied. "Once he wakes up he can tell us himself." 

T'Miya nodded and rummaged through the hyposprays. "It will be necessary to determine if there is damage from the concussion. I will need him awake as it is." 

Henri stood on tiptoe, looking over her shoulder, as the hypospray hissed against the man's neck. "Can you hear me?" he said as the man groaned softly. 

Jean-Luc, with a dignity more suited to the starship captain than the dusty archaeologist, stepped forward as the man tried to rise from the table. He pressed him back down to the table and said forcefully, "Can you hear me?" 

"Where...where am I?" he asked, wincing. He blinked and groaned again. Jean-Luc shared a glance with Henri, both surprised to hear the pronounced English accent. T'Miya held up three fingers. 

"How many do you see?" she asked, eternallly calm. 

The stranger's eyes widened. "Three," he replied, and looked over at the two humans. "Where am I?" he asked again, more forcefully this time. 

"You are on Cadis, at the local VSD research camp," answered Jean-Luc. "I am Cap--" He stopped and swallowed, confused. "I am Jean-Luc Picard, head of this team. This is my son, Henri, and our medic, T'Miya." 

"Are you human?" asked the stranger. Henri and Jean-Luc both cocked an eyebrow at each other. T'Miya looked almost amused. She moved her finger back and forth before the stranger's face, but his eyes didn't seem to be able to focus on it. 

"Of course," said Jean-Luc. "Well, T'Miya is Vulcan, but we two are humans." 

"I wasn't aware that there were research teams out here. Especially teams with humans on them." He closed his eyes and hissed in pain as T'Miya prodded the lump on the back of his head. "Thought we...thought we were the...only ones..." he added weakly. 

"What is your name?" asked Jean-Luc hastily as the man's head lolled to the side. "Where did you come from?" 

"Malcolm... Malcolm Reed," said the man with great effort. T'Miya grabbed for the hypospray, but he was unconscious again before she could do anything. "Yes, that helps a lot," said Henri sarcastically. 

"At least we know what to call him," said Jean-Luc wryly. "He did have something in his arms that fell when I picked him up. Perhaps that could have some answers." He motioned for Henri to follow him, and they went out into the darkness once more. 

"How could he just appear?" said Henri emphatically, looking accusingly up at the stars above. 

"I know how impossible it sounds, Henri, but that's what happened," said Jean-Luc wearily. Something niggled at the back of his mind, some important thing, but he did not know what it was. 

"Maybe he pissed off the Vulcan Confederacy and got sent out here as punishment," said Henri. A bell rang in Picard's mind and he stopped dead, staring at his son. Henri kept on walking for a few paces, not noticing that his father was not next to him. 

Jean-Luc's entire mouth went dry. The starship captain could not remember having a son. Where, in all those myriad exploits of that ship, was Henri? He knew eighteen years of a person's life were not simply dismissed from one's mind. What on earth was happening to him? Schizophrenia...the word danced across his mind. 

"Dad?" Henri was at his elbow, looking worried. "Dad, what's the matter?" 

"Nothing," he said sharply, but he could not stop a shaky sigh from escaping his lips. Henri stared after him as he strode quickly over the dusty ground, and did not take his eyes from his father until they reached the bag of tools, laying forlornly on the dark ground. 

"Here it is," said Jean-Luc, and picked up the object dropped by Reed. He examined it closely in the lamplight, wiping the dirt away with gentle fingers. 

"What is it?" 

"It looks like the temporal resequencer used by agents of the Cabal," said Jean-Luc. "But it's slightly different in design. I've never seen quite this configuration." 

"Do you know how to use it?" asked Henri, although Jean-Luc could tell that his son was dying to know how his father knew it was a temporal resequencer used by the agents of the Cabal. 

Jean-Luc looked sharply at his son. "Yes," he said. "But it isn't going to tell us where our mysterious Malcolm Reed came from." His tone warned Henri not to ask any more, and the boy didn't, although he kept glancing at the device as they returned to the tent. 

T'Miya was packing up her tools as they slipped back through the flap. Malcolm Reed had been moved to Jean-Luc's cot, looking much better than when he'd first seen him. Henri slung the tools down and sat down, glaring at the device in Jean-Luc's hands. 

"He should awaken again in about an hour," said T'Miya. "I have repaired the damage to his skull and cerebral cortex. Do not let him move about excessively. He should rest." She yawned slightly and nodded. "Call me when he wakes up, or if he does not within three hours." 

Both humans nodded. Henri yawned as well. "Go to bed," said Jean-Luc, patting his son on the back. "I'll keep an eye on him." Henri nodded and lay down in his own cot, and was asleep within minutes. Jean-Luc waited until he was absolutely sure Henri was not faking, and then tapped at the keys of the Cabal device. A holographic display popped into view. 

"Hmm," murmured Jean-Luc, scanning through the contents. A timeline ran along the bottom of the display, and he enlarged it absently, wondering just how far this one extended. It seemed to be a history of Earth, oddly enough. He'd never seen one with Earth before. Usually these dealt with the more influential players in the galaxy, like the Borg or the Cabal or the Vulcan Confederacy. World Wars, Zefram Cochrane, Vulcan landing, launching of Enterprise...all these were familiar events, and he let the timeline fly by more quickly. 

Suddenly, he straightened in surprise and stopped the timeline. Starfleet? United Federation of Planets? What on earth...and yet he recognized the terms with the half of his mind that he'd been trying to suppress ever since he found the stranger. 

And there, suddenly, was his own name, captain of the Enterprise NCC-1701 D, flagship of Starfleet, exploratory and military arm of the Federation. 

Shaking, Jean-Luc scanned backwards until he found the point where it all began to diverge: late 2152, when the Enterprise NX-01 had been destroyed by the organization which would later become the Cabal. In this timeline, though, the Enterprise was not destroyed, although they did engage the Suliban. The mission continued for several years, and the captain, Jonathon Archer, played a great part in the formation of a new interstellar organization, the United Federation of Planets. No mention of the Cabal was again made, at least as far as Jean-Luc could see. 

He shut off the holographic display and went to his own interface, typing in the name "Malcolm Reed." Only one entry popped up, linked to a crew manifest of the Enterprise NX-01. 

"Disappeared from the surface of Cadis...2152...one week before the demise of the rest of the ship's crew," read Jean-Luc. The picture certainly looked like the stranger currently lying in his cot. He went back to the resequencer and performed the same search. This time, a myriad of articles surfaced. "Force fields...Red Alert..." read Jean-Luc. He found a crew manifest again, and went to "Reed, Malcolm." 

"Lieutenant Malcolm Reed...commendation for valour and innovative thinking in a desperate battle against the Suliban, 2152. 'Without his actions we would certainly now be dead,'" he murmured, reading verbatim the words of Captain Archer. 

Jean-Luc looked at the man lying in the cot, and back to the display. Perhaps these new memories were not simply the product of a crazy mind. Somehow, time itself had changed, because Malcolm Reed was not there. 

It was all so simple, mused Jean-Luc. 

Then why was he so confused?


	4. CHAPTER 4--A Revelation

CHAPTER 4--A Revelation 

The crew moved about the bridge in silence that night. No scan was forgotten in the search for Malcolm Reed. Every piece of rubble was sorted and picked at until even Archer was forced to admit that there was nothing to find. He sat in the captain's chair, for once not noticing how uncomfortable it was, and thought silently as his crew went about their duties. 

"T'Pol," he said finally, "have you found anything?" 

She replied, calmly, "Nothing." 

"We've been around this planet two or three times and haven't found a thing," said Archer heavily. 

"The logical conclusion would be that there is nothing to find," said T'Pol. 

He noticed the activity around them had slowed. Everyone's ears were pricked up, waiting for his next words. 

"We will hold a memorial service for Lieutenant Reed at 1700 hours," he said, directing his words to all the listening crewmembers. "As soon as that is concluded, we will leave this planet." 

"Sir!" said Trip sharply, then covered his mouth and whirled back to his station. 

"I know, Trip," replied Archer. "But we've done everything we can." 

"Permission to keep looking for him, sir?" asked the commander. Archer looked closely at his friend and saw the man's eyes were rimmed with red. 

"Until 1700 hours." He turned to Mayweather at the helm. "I see from the Vulcan star charts that there's a nebula nearby. Set in a course for that, Ensign." Mayweather nodded. 

The bridge fell silent again, and stayed that way until Archer got up to make the dreaded call to Malcolm's parents. He hated doing it, even more after he actually spoke with the Reeds. At least, he comforted himself, Malcolm had friends aboard Enterprise. Someone would mourn for him. 

But he could not help hoping, as Trip did, that they would find him, or at least some clue as to what had happened to him. 

Henri nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the stranger's voice. "Hello, is anyone there?" asked the man weakly. Henri got up quickly and went over the cot. 

"Good morning, Mr. Reed," he said cheerfully. "How are you feeling?" 

"Where am...oh...Cadis. Yes." 

"Good, you remembered this time," said Henri. "Would you like some water?" 

"Yes, please." Reed sipped thirstily at the cup Henri brought him. "Thank you." He carefully pushed himself up from the cot, running a hand over his chest. 

"Now, I realize I haven't been all that coherent," Reed said slowly, "but I could have sworn the last time I woke up my chest hurt like hell. How long have I been asleep?" 

Henri raised an eyebrow. "Well, T'Miya did fix your broken ribs," he said. "They shouldn't hurt anymore." Reed checked himself over with disbelief. 

"One more thing the Vulcans didn't share," he said wonderingly. Henri rolled his eyes. That bump on the stranger's head obviously hadn't quite healed yet. 

"Dad," he called through the tent door, "he's awake again." Reed blinked in the sunlight as Jean-Luc came through the flap. 

"Thank you, Henri. I need to speak to our mysterious stranger alone, please," said Jean-Luc. He smiled warmly at his son and patted his shoulder as he went by. 

"Is he your son, then?" asked Reed, standing and stretching. 

"Yes, he is," replied Picard. "Henri is his name." 

"I'm afraid I can't quite remember yours," admitted Reed. "I know I woke up a few times last night but everything's a bit hazy." 

"Jean-Luc Picard." He held out his hand and Reed shook it warmly. The old man would not meet his eyes. 

"I have a rather odd question to ask you, Mr. Reed," said Picard. "What year is it?" 

Reed touched his head again, feeling the slight tenderness where his skull had met with a piece of falling rubble. "It's 2152," he said. "I really think I'm all right now, thank you. I'm not even dizzy." 

"Oh, I don't doubt that," said Picard. "T'Miya is a very capable medic, and she has pronounced you healthy. No, the reason I am asking, Lieutenant Reed, is that the year is not 2152 at all. It is 2374, and everyone aboard Enterprise has been dead for two hundred and twenty-two years." 

Reed sat down again quickly, nearly toppling over the cot. "What kind of trick is this?" he said harshly. "Where's Captain Archer?" 

"Like I said, he is dead," said Picard simply. "Along with your science officer T'Pol, your linguist Hoshi Sato, your entomologist Elizabeth Cutler, your engineer Charles Tucker..." 

"Trip. We called him Trip," said Reed hoarsely. "How?" 

Picard sat on the edge of the cot next to Reed and handed him a padd. 

"One week after your disappearance from Cadis, the Enterprise encountered a Suliban vessel while exploring the Betreka Nebula. They were unprepared for the attack and caught off their guard. The Suliban ship obliterated them. The last transmission from the Enterprise was from Captain Archer..." 

Reed read it out loud, his face pale. " 'We are under attack by the Suliban. Our weapons are off-line. Our life support is failing. Many of my crew are dead and many more are in need of medical aid. If anyone can hear this please respond.' I take it," he said hoarsely, "I take it no one did." 

"A Vulcan ship got there two days later after they received the transmission. There was nothing left but debris," said Picard. 

Reed set the padd down and put his head in his hands. "All dead. Two hundred bloody years," he whispered. "I might have been able to save them, Jean-Luc. And now there's no way I can go back?" 

Picard saw the temporal resequencer sitting on the floor nearby. Without Reed seeing it, he pushed it under the cot and then turned to the distraught man. 

"No. There's no way to go back." 

Archer had to admit, looking at the nebula from his window, that there were worse ways to spend an evening. It had taken them a week to arrive, but the view alone was worth it. T'Pol was having a wonderful time (though she'd be the last to admit it) collecting data on the rare hydrogen formations present within the sparkling pink and orange cloud. 

Suddenly, a jolt shook the ship and knocked Archer off his feet. 

"What the hell is going on?" he yelled, punching the comm as further tremors shook the decks below his feet. 

"Sir!" came Mayweather's frantic reply. "Sir, we're under attack!!!"


	5. CHAPTER 5--An Unexpected Attack

CHAPTER 5--An Unexpected Attack 

Reed stared up at the ceiling of the tent, watching the shadows of the clouds move across it in the deepening evening sunlight. Dead...all dead...two hundred bloody years! kept running through his mind. How on earth...was that even a proper expression anymore?...how on earth had he ended up in 2374? 

He could hear the two Picards talking outside, in low voices: the father was telling his son the situation. Jean-Luc's deep voice lifted and fell, but he could not catch individual words. Why couldn't his father have been like that, Reed wondered, strong and kind and obviously caring? He sighed softly. 

It was a moot point, since he would never see his father again. 

Their voices died away as the two men walked away from the tent. Reed sighed again. Rest time, T'Miya had told him firmly, but he couldn't sleep. His eyes fell on the computer interface, sitting on the table, and he went to look at the files about the ill-fated Enterprise once more. There wasn't even a proper mention in the history books (although since both Henri and Jean-Luc had reminded him this was a Vulcan database, there probably wouldn't be). The article described only the conditions of their demise, as well as including a list of the officers who had served aboard Enterprise. No mention of their accomplishments or even mistakes was included. Funny, Reed thought, he would have expected the Vulcans to at least tell their descendants who was responsible for the destruction of the monastery at P'Jem. They'd certainly made enough of a fuss in his own time. 

On a whim, he found the search buttons that Henri had shown him and told the computer to look for "Time Travel." 

"The Vulcan Science Directorate has determined that time travel is impossible," was the cold answer from the computer. 

"Fine," said Reed. "What about the Cabal, then? How do they do it?" 

"Please restate your query." 

He turned away, exasperated. Living proof of time travel, he was, and yet time travel was impossible. As Trip would have said, "That's just plumb unfair." Thinking of his friend, blown into a million pieces only a few light years from here, his hands trembled. Unfair? A bloody understatement. In anger he turned from the table and tripped headlong over the low cot, sending both it and himself sprawling across the floor. 

He lay there for a moment, tangled in the sheet, and tried to figure out just what it was that was poking him in the back. Reed let out his breath in a huff and turned over. 

"What on earth is this?" he growled, ripping the sheets away and pulling the object out from under him. 

And stared at it. Crewman Daniels' device (or whoever's it had been) looked much the worse for wear. Dust covered the delicate gray controls, and it looked as though someone had stepped on it. 

This thing had to be what had brought him two hundred years into the future. He fiddled with the controls again, hoping his dumb luck would hold. He swore when the holographic display popped up. "Now you work!" he told it fiercely. 

Wait, thought Reed suddenly, was that Enterprise? 

He examined the files carefully, chills going up and down his spine, and then sat down on the righted cot, waiting for Jean-Luc Picard to return. 

"What do we do with a time traveler that's stuck here?" asked Henri. "Can that temporal resequencer send him back?" 

Picard looked out over the hilly desert, into the purple and orange sunset. They stood on a bluff about a kilometer past the dig site. A narrow river wended its way through the dust below, faint spots of green visible along the banks. 

The memories of his alter ego, the erstwhile starship captain, had begun to fade since he'd talked to Reed after the man woke up. Though he did not know how to explain the science behind the phenomenon, he suspected the memories had been awakened by his encounter with the man who was the touchstone between the two possible futures. And now that it did not appear likely that Reed would be able to travel back, one future was fading. He smiled at his son and ruffled his hair. 

"I'll send him with you when you go back to the Vulcan Science Academy," said Picard. "I'm sure the Vulcans will be quite happy to have proof that time travel is not impossible. They'll stop insisting that the Cabal doesn't do anything like that, hopefully." 

Henri smiled at that, and then abruptly sobered. "Then maybe they'd actually do something about the Cabal for once, instead of just letting them run rampant over any planet or ship or person that comes in their way." 

Jean-Luc put his arm around his son's shoulder. "I know, Henri." 

"Mom didn't deserve that," said Henri softly. 

"Neither did anyone else on that ship." 

"I know. But it's still unfair." 

"Come on," said Jean-Luc, giving his son a hug and then turning back towards camp. "It's getting dark. Mr. Reed will be awake again by now." They tromped back together, son matching father stride for stride. This is how it should be, thought Picard. Him by my side, always. This is how it should be. 

Yet the moment passed all too quickly. The tops of the tents glowed in the dusk; shadows moved across the sides like Japanese puppets. Picard sent his son in the direction of the canteen and went inside their own dark tent. 

"Computer, half light," he said softly, not wanting to wake Reed up. 

The lieutenant, however, was sitting stiffly on the cot, glaring at him, the temporal resequencer in his lap. Picard stopped. 

"They didn't die, did they?" said Reed fiercely. "I saved them. And this isn't the right future, here." 

"Time travel is impossible--" started Picard, half-choking on the words. 

"Don't give me that," Reed interrupted. "I'm here, aren't I? There is a way to get back. This device brought me here, and it can bring me back. I can save my ship. I know when they all die, now, and it is definitely not in 2152. For anyone. No one on Enterprise dies that year." 

Jean-Luc felt the captain's memories come rushing back into his mind. 

"You will not take him away from me," snapped Picard, and with a sudden swift movement he crossed the room and snatched the temporal resequencer from the startled lieutenant's hands. Reed leapt to his feet. 

"Please!" he cried, and grabbed for the device. 

Picard threw the resequencer to the ground and jumped on it. To his disappointment nothing happened. Obviously the designer had made the device quite strong. Reed shoved him away from it, and Picard tumbled to the ground. He looked up to see a trowel, pointed metal end glittering in the dim light, aimed directly at his throat. 

"Now, I want to know what kind of Suliban trick this is," said Reed. "Who wanted the Enterprise destroyed? Who are you, really?" 

"Jean-Luc Picard." The trowel shook in front of his eyes, and he closed them. "In this future I am only an archaeologist, not even that reputable. In the other, I am a starship captain. Captain of an Enterprise. A descendant of your own ship, in truth." 

Reed sighed. "Why, then, don't you want me to put it to rights? Surely the life of a starship captain is better than this." 

Picard only had to say one word. "Henri," he muttered, and a tear slid slowly through the dust on his face. Reed dropped the trowel and sank to his knees. 

"It seems that we are both in a rather uncomfortable position," he began. A tremor shook the ground at that moment. Both of them were hurled to the ground, the tent collapsing on top of them. 

More explosions rocked the camp, and they struggled out of the canvas. Picard spotted two ships flying overhead, through the dust, and coughing, began to run toward the replicator tent. Reed followed, clinging tight to the temporal resequencer, wiping his eyes. 

"Oh, bloody hell," he said as they reached the tent. Bodies lay everywhere, scattered among plates and cups and silverware. Picard let out a strangled cry and rushed to one. 

He cradled his son in his arms and let the tears fall, stinging his dusty eyes. Reed stood behind him, silent, and looked for any more survivors. 

They heard voices suddenly, off in the distance. "The rogue temporal signature is still here," said one, quite clearly. "Check over that way." 

Picard looked up at him. "Give me that thing," he said roughly. Reed handed it over without a complaint. The man tapped at the controls and suddenly a glimmering portal of light shone forth from the machine. 

"Go back," said Picard roughly. "Go back and save them. Maybe one of us can sleep happily this night." 

"Look! What's that?" cried the voices, nearer now. The sound of pounding footsteps could be heard through the dust and darkness. Reed did not hesitate: he grabbed the device and launched himself into the portal. 

Picard bent his head over the body of his son, shivering. 

He never felt the phaser blast hit him; he was too numb to care.


	6. CHAPTER 6--A Timely Return

CHAPTER 6--A Timely Return 

Reed half expected to see a tunnel of light, a swirl of color, all the boundaries of time encompassing him as he returned gloriously back to his own time, the conquering traveler coming to heroically rescue his ship. 

Instead, he blinked, and found himself in the hallways of Enterprise, tightly clutching the temporal resequencer. That was it? thought Reed, disappointed. The ship lurched beneath his feet and tossed him against the bulkhead. Tasting blood on his lips where he'd inadvertantly bitten his tongue, Reed picked himself up and set off towards the bridge. A weapons locker set in the wall, door hanging open, caught his eyes, and he placed the temporal resequencer in it. 

Oh, what a feeling to have the smooth handle of a phase pistol in his hands again. Only a day or so, and yet he had missed it even in that short amount of time. 

He knew exactly what he had to do. All the details had been included in the temporal resequencer. He just needed to get to the bridge, and Enterprise didn't need to fear for a second. 

The floor shuddered under his feet, and he doubled his pace. Get to the bridge, Malcolm, he told himself. Get to the bridge. 

Go rewrite history. 

"Who's attacking?" cried Archer as he burst out of the turbolift. T'Pol, serene as ever, caught him as the floors rocked once again and tossed him past her chair. 

"The Suliban, I think," said Ensign Matthews, who had replaced Malcolm at tactical. 

"They just came out of nowhere," said Ensign Mayweather breathlessly. "I've been trying to dodge their shots but they seem to have some sort of tracking torpedo. No matter what I do they hit something." 

"Get the torpedos online," said Archer. 

"Aye sir," replied Matthews. The young man bit his lip as his fingers flew across the controls. Archer could not help but shudder; Lieutenant Reed would have had the torpedos ready to go before he even got to the bridge. If only, if only, thought Archer wryly. 

A tense minute passed. The only sound in the room came from Mayweather's furious piloting, trying to evade the deadly shots from the Suliban ship. T'Pol, eyes pressed to the scanner, examined every part of the ship for any possible weakness. 

"Torpedos online, sir," said Ensign Matthews. Sweat beaded at his temples, and he wiped it quickly. Archer nodded to him, and wished fervently that Malcolm was there. 

"Lock on, ensign, and fire," Archer ordered sharply. 

"Ensign, don't fire the torpedos," barked a sharp voice. "Bring the phase cannons online as well." 

The entire bridge halted and turned around as one toward the turbolift. 

"Malcolm?" cried Mayweather, and toppled out of his chair as the ship shook again. 

"What the hell?" said Archer. Even T'Pol's mouth hung wide open to see the spectre of the lieutenant, dusty and bloody and very much alive. The formerly dead armory officer strode across the bridge and snapped his fingers at Ensign Matthews. "Captain, permission to siphon power from the warp core?" Archer stared at him in shock as the ensign leapt up from the tactical chair. "Captain." 

Archer's reply disappeared in the resounding crash from yet another hit. Reed didn't wait for another answer. He slipped into his chair, still fingering the phase pistol, and keyed in the commands to overload the phase cannons and fire a full spread of torpedos... all at the same time. 

The barrage took the Suliban by surprise, and Enterprise steadied for a moment. Reed took full advantage of the lull, routing the conduits from the warp core into the phase cannons and blasting away at the enemy. Sparks burnt his cheek and crisped his hair as a power coupling blew right over his console, but the lieutenant hardly even noticed it. 

He murmured the procedures from the holographic files as he rerouted the remaining power into one torpedo, charging it with electricity until it fairly sizzled. The Suliban ship exploded the moment the superpowered torpedo hit it, and Reed slumped onto his station in relief, breathing heavily. 

When a firm hand grasped his shoulder, he stayed facedown for a moment, trying to think of some explanation, some rationalization. 

Archer, however, did not say anything. He merely hauled the lieutenant to his feet and guided him over to the turbolift. Every eye on the bridge followed them until the lift doors swooshed shut and hid them from view. 

"I'd like to have Dr. Phlox take a look at that, Malcolm," said the captain quietly. Reed touched his lip again, feeling where he had bitten it, and nearly laughed. Suddenly he did, and could not stop until his laughter turned into wheezes. All the adrenaline seemed to have left his system, and Archer had to support him into sickbay. 

"You can let go of the phase pistol now," said Dr. Phlox briskly, face buried in a medical scanner, and then snapped upwards. "Lieutenant Reed! Weren't you dead?" Reed closed his eyes and sank down on a biobed, immensely tired all of a sudden. 

"Yes, indeed," said the captain softly. "What happened? We searched for you and found absolutely nothing." 

Reed looked up and found his captain's eyes. He suddenly remembered the Picards, Jean-Luc bowed over his son's dead body, tears streaking the dust on his face. Silly, wasn't it, to be sad over someone who wouldn't be born for two hundred years. 

The archaeologist's words came back to him then: "No. You will not take him away from me." And he'd done that without even going back to the past. Reed had no doubt that the mysterious attackers had been from the Cabal, from the descriptions given him by the computer of the politics of the alternate future. 

Henri would never be born at all, he realized, and the thought gave him pause. He realized that the doctor and the captain still stared at him, waiting for whatever answer he chose to give them. 

"I...I found one of the devices like the one Crewman Daniels had," he began hesitantly. "I tried to access the holographic database..." Archer gave him a stern look at that point. "Anyway," Reed continued, "I pressed some wrong buttons, the building exploded around me, and I...found myself down by the Mess Hall. I thought...I thought I'd just activated some sort of transporter." 

"That was a week ago," said Archer, and to Reed's surprise he grinned. "You arrived just in time, Lieutenant, and it's good to have you back. Did you save that device?" 

Reed pictured it in the bottom of the weapons locker. "No, sir," he said, and swallowed, sure Archer would see right through every lie. He'd demand the truth, demand to know the real story. 

I spent a day two hundred and twenty-two years in the future, thought Reed. And I know what the future will be for most of this crew. Suddenly he knew exactly how Cassandra, prophetess of Troy, must have felt, and closed his eyes with the weight of it all. 

Phlox chose that moment to begin dabbing at his bloody lip with a wet cloth, and Reed opened his eyes to find Archer gazing at him with concern written all over his face. "Mr. Reed needs to rest," said Phlox. "This interesting ordeal has obviously left him quite exhausted. He will be fine to return to duty in a day or two." Archer smiled and patted the armory officer on the shoulder. "I'll go let the crew know the good news," he said. 

"Perhaps warn them that he's been ordered to get some rest?" said Phlox, raising an eyebrow. "Otherwise I'm sure Mr. Tucker will be quite willing to exhaust my patient further." 

Archer nodded again and left the sickbay. 

"Now, Lieutenant, I'll escort you back to your quarters. I doubt anything's been changed yet," said Phlox. Reed wrinkled his nose as the doctor smeared a white paste onto his lip. He did not say a word as they walked through the halls, although he did nod to the crewmembers they passed. 

He slept until the middle of the night shift. When he awoke, he remembered again the temporal resequencer in the weapons locker, and quietly went to go get it. From the armory he liberated a locking case and stowed the resequencer inside, and hid it at the very top of his closet, above the ceiling itself where the power conduits ran between bulkheads. 

Reed did not really know why he had told the captain a false story. In his bones, his deepest instincts, an urge of caution resonated. Knowing the future could be dangerous. He himself knew information already about the oncoming lives of some of his crewmates. What would happen if that were changed? His head throbbed with the possible ramifications and futures, and he decided that time should be allowed to run its own course. He would not meddle, even if he knew what would happen. 

Would he have gone back if the Cabal had not attacked Cadis, searching for a rogue temporal signature? Would he have submitted to Jean-Luc's wishes and let time stay as it was? How did he know that a Federation was the right way to go? Jean-Luc had made the decision for him...for Enterprise...for Henri. Maybe...maybe... He glanced at the closet. 

Quietly he sat down at his desk and began to type a letter into the computer. 

"To Jean-Luc Picard, Captain of the Enterprise..."


	7. CHAPTER 7--A Tempting Offer

CHAPTER 7--A Tempting Offer 

Earth spun slowly across his window, green and blue and white. Lovely, thought Picard, simply lovely. He loved the stars, loved to watch them blur and streak as the ship went to warp, but there was nothing quite like the sight of your own home, making its lonely way across the black curtain of space. 

He started slightly as the comm beeped on his chest. "Bridge to Captain Picard," came through his badge, and absently he tapped it in response. 

"Picard here," he replied, still gazing at the shifting patterns of the clouds on the planet below. "Go ahead, ensign." 

"A package has just been beamed up from the surface for you," the ensign replied. "Shall I bring it up, sir?" 

"Yes, of course," Picard said, curious. He could think of no one who would be sending him anything from Earth. Some of his crew were on shore leave, true, but anything they got on Earth would be brought back with the crew member. 

"Here you go, sir," said the ensign as the door hissed open a few moments later. Picard nodded and smiled at the young man and relieved him of the heavy gray box. His name was written in neat black letters under an opaque plastic flap, which appeared to have been recently unsealed. A communique from Starfleet Archives, stuck to the outside, caught his eye. 

"To Captain Jean-Luc Picard: This was placed in the archives shortly after the completion of the original Enterprise mission, with instructions to unseal the top nameplate on April 1st, 2374. Your name is clearly displayed as the intended recipient. We suspect that the capsule may be a forgery or that the records are incorrect as to the date of submission. However, since it is addressed to you, under Federation law you are entitled to open it. Sincerely, Lieutenant Patrick Hayman, Head Archivist," read the tag. 

Now doubly intrigued, the Captain dug further into the box, pulling out crumbling packing material that certainly looked as though it were two hundred years old. He found another box and a pile of laminated papers tied to it. These also displayed his name, as well as the words, "For his eyes ONLY" written several times in red ink. Nothing else remained in the case, once he had sifted through all the packing material. 

"Dear Jean-Luc," he read out loud, "I very much doubt that you know who I am, although you will surely be familiar with my surroundings and possibly some of my colleagues. My name is Malcolm Reed; at present, I am a lieutenant, serving as Armoury officer aboard the Enterprise NX-01 under Captain Jonathon Archer." 

PIcard, knowing precisely who Archer was if not Malcolm Reed, read on, his eyes widening at the tale which unfolded in the letter. An archaeologist who specialized in Suliban settlements and technology? A galaxy terrorized by the Cabal? A son? His hands shook tremulously, and he stopped reading. 

"Computer, scan documents and estimate age," he said, holding them out in front of him. The computer replied, "Scan complete, approximate age two hundred and twenty years." 

"Within the included box is the Suliban device which I recovered from Cadis and managed to take back through time when I returned to Enterprise. When I left, Jean-Luc, you set the device for me. The settings remain. Only one button need be pushed to send you back through time to the same moment. 

"I offer you this, Jean-Luc: stop me from preventing Enterprise's destruction and save your son. It was my fault that he died; you should not be made to suffer for the mistakes of one man. I believe your choice to help me was made without your sound judgement. Decide now what you want; the device is there if you choose to use it," read Picard out loud. He set the letter down on his desk and opened the second box. A gray, flat machine sat ominously within; as he touched it it came alive, lights blinking. 

Only one paragraph remained, and with his eyes darting back towards the machine at every other word, he read, "I offer only one bit of advice. Destroy the machine after you are finished with it. A great temptation will be to look at the futures, possible futures I should say, of your friends and family. Do not do this, I warn you now. It will drive you mad." 

And that was precisely what you did, thought Picard sadly. How hard that must be, to know when your friends will die, and knowing not what your actions might do to change it. He could sense Reed's character from reading the letter; the man would never have told anyone what he knew, condemning himself to a life of certainty. If you know what will happen, the future is as unbreakable as the past, Picard thought to himself. 

Picard touched the machine again, setting down the stiff laminated letter, and looked out at the stars and Earth spinning in front of them, beautiful as always. He whispered, "Henri Picard," and snatched the device from its box. Quickly he strode from his ready room and into the turbolift, down, down, all the way down to the bottom decks. He looked at the button that would activate the portal as he entered the weapons storage room. He'd need a weapon, he thought, and snatched a phaser from the shelf. 

Then carefully he went through the halls again, to the very bottom of the ship, and into the airlock at the bow of the engine section. He put the device on the floor and gripped the bar at the side. 

The button gleamed in the dim light, reflected back up from the planet below. PIcard bent down, brushed it with his fingers and looked through the window at Earth below. 

"Computer, open airlock," he said. 

With a whoosh the airlock decompressed. Picard held onto the device for a moment, and his fingers crept closer and closer to the shining button. 

"Henri," he said, gasping as the air dissipated from the lock, and let go. 

The device flew out into space. Picard took aim with the phaser and growled, "Repressurize airlock," as it exploded in a glowing ball of sparks and metal. 

He sank to his knees and inhaled deeply. Earth spun below him. The stars shone in the black velvet firmament. 

The debris from the explosion dimmed, and spread, and finally was no more. 

~the end~


End file.
